


100 Ways (To Say "I Love You")

by quartetship



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Multi, Multipairing, Multiship, Multiverse, otp challenge, prompts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-24
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-04-17 02:00:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4648020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quartetship/pseuds/quartetship
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>100 short works inspired by a list of the many ways to say "I love you".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "Let me drive for a while." (Eren & Jean)

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so a while back, I took suggestion from my readers and friends as to what pairings you might like to see me write. I told you it was for an upcoming, multi-ship project. 
> 
> This is that project.
> 
> Inspired by [this tumblr post](http://p0ck3tf0x.tumblr.com/post/98502010026/one-hundred-ways-to-say-i-love-you), this 100 chapter anthology of short works is my take on these many ways of saying "I love you", using a multitude of YOUR suggested SNK pairings as muses. I wont be tagging the ships here, since there are simply too many, but each chapter will have the ship listed in the title and the notes.
> 
> So keep an eye out for your suggestions, and feel free to make more as the project rolls along.
> 
> For now, let's kick things off with Eren & Jean.
> 
> Enjoy! :)
> 
> \--

Nobody took Eren seriously when he initially declared his intent to travel.

It wasn't that hopping in his car alone and setting off across the country was really anything out of the ordinary for him. In truth, his friends had come to expect that sort of thing, out of Eren. Since childhood, he was never in one place long, never still long enough for roots to grow beneath his feet. It wasn't the distance or the seemingly random decision to drive off into the sunset that took anyone by surprise.

It was his destination.

He was going to find his family, he told them. Or at least, what was left of it, whether that was a house full of people or a few scraps of paper in a hall of public records. Growing up as a child of the state, Eren had never had something to cling to, to build an identity from, other than being an orphan. He wanted to know where he came from, needed to find out so he could have some sense of where he belonged in the world, and who he belonged with. So he would drive until he ran across something, he decided. Go back to where he was born, and then trace his own steps backward, if he needed to. It was the only thing that made sense, to him.

Of everyone Eren told about his plans, Jean was probably the loudest protestor. The exact words out of his mouth involved “suicidal” and “bastard”, both snapped with the same force as the pencil Jean was holding when Eren regaled him. Jean was always easily riled, but this was something else entirely.

Eren couldn't just head out with no direction, Jean insisted, with no actual figure in his head for the miles he would need to cross before finding the answers he was after. He was likely to run himself ragged, to get injured or _die,_ as ill prepared as he usually was for the cross country treks he was prone to take. Far too many nights had Eren blown back into town after one of his excursions, exhausted in every sense, only for Jean to be the one left to scoop him up and take him home to look after him, grumbling all the way.

So Jean would go with him, this time.

There wasn't even a discussion, really. Jean finished talking about the myriad ways Eren could find himself in trouble without supervision, and then told him that he needed to make room for one more in the car. He couldn't let Eren spend all that time, all over the country, alone. Eren didn't object. He shrugged and nodded, and hid the wide grin on his face behind a hand cupped over his mouth.

The two of them left early one morning at the beginning of September, Eren cheerfully remarking that they would see a beautiful array of colors as they cruised across the country at the cusp of early autumn. Jean simply huffed and nodded, more to get Eren moving, than anything. Lingering on the high points and highlights of the trip ahead made it sound too much like a vacation, which certainly wasn't Jean’s intention. He still thought the entire trip was lunacy, but better he chaperone Eren during it than get stuck nursing him back to health, afterward.

Even fully aware of the many miles they would be crossing, Jean hadn't really anticipated just how much time would drag as they shifted from one time zone to another, moving forever forward.

Two hours into their trip, they'd barely made it halfway across a single state. Six hours in, with two stops and lunch behind them, they crossed state lines. The road they followed looked the same, mile after monotonous mile, the hills and trees that lines the sides beginning to look like the repeating background of a cartoon. They had been driving for nearly ten solid hours when the light began to soften at the edges of the horizon, and Eren's eyes started to seem as heavy as the sinking sun. He _refused_ to stop until they'd at least made it to another state, thoug. His birth place was another three days of hard driving ahead of them, after all.

Knowing he would never talk him into stopping to book a room - at least until it was too dark to see the road ahead of them - Jean heaved a sigh and retracted his feet from Eren's dashboard, reaching over to squeeze at the back of his neck.

"Pull over. Let me drive for a while."

Eren tensed beneath Jean's fingers. It was admittedly a softer touch than he was used to, out of Jean, more tender in its weight and its intentions. Jean rubbed small circles with his thumb over the place where Eren's neck became his shoulder, and watched him swallow, thinking it over.

Wordlessly, Eren nodded, flipping his turn signal down to pull off onto a small, unmarked road a few hundred feet ahead. When the engine growled to a halt and went quiet, Eren sat in place, still for a moment as he watched the sun begin to dip behind the trees in the distance. Finally, he turned to Jean, chewing on his bottom lip for a moment before leaning forward and pressing those lips to Jean's.

"Thank you," he murmured, pressing his nose to Jean's cheek, "for this."

He didn't have to tell Jean exactly what he meant. He didn't need to thank him for believing in him, for caring about him, or accompanying him on what was very likely to be a wild goose chase. He didn't have to tell him what it meant to him, or that he loved Jean all the more for it.

There was no need.

Jean simply nodded, and pressed another kiss to Eren's forehead, before prodding him hard in the ribs and following it with a taunting little tickle, sliding out of his seat to allow Eren to switch places with him before they headed back out onto the highway, chasing the edges of a dream and the setting sun.


	2. "It reminded me of you."  (Eren/Armin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something for fans of Eren & Armin. :)
> 
> (Not from the same universe as the first chapter!)
> 
> \--

A small box, wrapped in simple brown paper sat in the middle of Armin’s otherwise neat desk. Normally, Eren would've flopped down without a second thought, and knocked the package to the side. But the tiny tag beneath the bow read ‘Eren’ in Armin’s tidy script, and he couldn't risk breaking his own present. 

Maybe he could shake it, he theorized, and guess what it held. Perhaps a peek beneath the corner of the paper would give the secret away. After giving both of those tricks a try, Eren placed the box back where he'd found it, no more wise to what was inside than he'd been when he'd first spotted it. 

His birthday was still months away, and they had no real anniversary to celebrate, but if they did, Eren was fairly certain it would've fallen somewhere on the opposite end of the calendar. So he couldn't figure out why there was a gift addressed to him on Armin’s desk, or exactly what holiday he'd forgotten. (Or how much he'd have to hear about how absent minded he was, when Armin finally took enough pity to tell him.)

So he sulked around their apartment, trying to pass time without dwelling too much on the thought. Armin would be home before long, and he could grill him about it then. But as the hours slid by without an appearance from him, Eren became less concerned with the box, and more worried about where his boyfriend was. 

And then his phone rang. 

Eren nearly broke his leg, tripping over himself to reach it after the first ring. On the other end of the line, Armin was laughing before he even greeted him. Eren wanted to be mad, but that sweet laughter made it hard to do anything other than smile with relief. 

“Glad to hear from you,” Eren confessed, “But where are you?”

“Worked over and missed the bus, so Annie is bringing me home after her shift.” The was still an air of amusement in Armin’s tone, and Eren waited, expectant. Sure enough, he had more than one reason for calling. “So have you opened your gift yet?”

“Am I allowed to?” Eren asked, not bothering with pretense. Obviously there was little point in pretending he hadn't been trying to pry into it for the last few hours; Armin knew him better than that. Muffled slightly by static, Armin laughed again.

“You might as well. I'm honestly surprised you haven't, already.”

“The thought may have crossed my mind.” Eren grinned, already making his way over to snatch the little gift box from Armin’s desk. He shook it one last time, still clueless to what its contents might be, and finally tore into the wrapping. 

Beneath the paper was a simple, black box, and Eren paused for a bare second before wiggling its lid off and tossing it away. Inside, an ornate bronze key hung from a simple cord necklace. In the twists of its bow, two hearts were visible, but only if viewed from certain angles. Eren stared at it, slowly pulling it from the box and twisting it in his fingers and letting the light of the nearby lamp catch it from every side. 

“It's… It's really cool,” he said finally, honestly. “But why?”

He fully expected some kind of lecture about how he'd let another special day slip his mind or missed some sort of notable occasion, but instead, Armin’s voice was casual, soft and sweet on the other end of the line as he replied. 

“It just reminded me of you.” 


	3. "No, no - it's my treat!" (Jean/Marco)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the beginning of the weekly update schedule for this fic project! I'm kicking off the newly amped up pace with a little Jean & Marco. Enjoy, and let me know what you think from week to week! :)
> 
> \--

Jean genuinely _hated_ being in debt.

There was nothing that bothered him more than being beholden, to anyone or anything. He was slow to take loans and favors, and quick to repay them, on the few instances he had to. Even gifts made him anxious, as it was a type of favor he had no way of knowing how to compensate a person for.

It all just felt like debt.

So in his friendships, he always established early on that there would be no gifts. No ‘I owe you one’, no borrowing - nothing taken, nothing owed. It always worked out just fine.

Until Jean met Marco.

Marco was the type to treat everyone. He would pay for people’s orders in the drive through line, drop pockets full of change and wadded up bills into the charity pots he passed during the holidays, and he showed up to nearly every social engagement with a gift. He was everything Jean tried desperately to avoid in a friend.

So it was terribly inconvenient, falling in _love_ with him.

He had tried to have the ‘no gifts’ conversation with Marco. His was sound logic, he reasoned - Marco should have no reason to disagree. But try as he might to dial back his gift-giving tendencies, Marco simply couldn't help the multitude of everyday ways that he frequently lavished Jean with a you-don’t-owe-me-one. After a while, it was easier to accept that he was forever in Marco’s debt, than to waste his time and hurt Marco’s feelings with repeated requests to stop.

Standing in line at their favorite coffee shop, Marco’s hand in his, Jean thought about it. He thought about the hundreds of times he had given in, and let Marco present him with the little things that used to make him so uncomfortable. He considered the fact that the wallet he was carrying, the hat on his head, even the shoes he stood in were all gifts from his boyfriend, and how numb he had become to that discomfort. It was almost… _nice._ Of course he wouldn't _tell_ Marco that, and he still gave a good show of resisting or pulling a pout when Marco handed him whatever thing he ‘just picked up for him’ that week.

But it all seemed to matter a little less, compared to the warmth of the fingers laced with his. Giving gifts made Marco happy, and Marco made Jean happy. And maybe that was okay.

So lost in his thoughts Jean had become, that he couldn't even be bothered to pull his eyes away from the thousand yard stare he'd let them fix the shop’s large picture windows with, when he heard Marco rattle off his usual drink order to the barista. Realizing the order was already ringing through, Jean finally turned his head back to look in Marco’s direction, but it was too late. Marco slid his debit card across the narrow slot and smiled widely, an almost victorious look on his face.

Waiting for their drinks to be finished, Jean chewed on his lip, rifling through his coat pocket with the hand that wasn't holding Marco’s, searching for his wallet. By the time he managed to wriggle it free from his pocket and flip it open, Marco had let go of his hand to reach for the pair of drinks being slid across the counter toward them. When he turned around, he could see Jean holding his wallet open, ready to repay him. Marco shook his head.

“No, no, it's my treat!” He insisted cheerfully, and gave the crumpled receipt he’d been holding a toss into the trash bin as they passed it by.

Jean looked down at the drink he was handed with a frown, considering it. He tried to do the math in his head, of what Marco had added to it, how much that would have cost, and how much he would owe Marco as a favor in return. In doing so, he idly took a sip, and couldn't stop himself cracking the faintest hint of a smile at the sweet, familiar taste of his favorite beverage. Marco had remembered it perfectly, down to the type of milk and the number of add-ins he always requested. Small though it may have been, the change in Jean’s expression wasn't lost on Marco. He beamed.

“Thank you,” Jean said quickly, even then, thinking of how to adequately repay Marco. But when he felt fingers lace with his, tugging him toward the door and out onto the busy sidewalk, the thought began to fade. A few minutes later, it was lost to the clutter of the noise around them, replaced only by the feeling of warmth, of being cared for, of being treated.

The feeling of being _loved._

It was priceless. And for once, Jean was okay with that.


	4. "Come here, let me fix it." (Reiner & Bertholdt)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeeey, look, I didn't forget about this fic after all, ahaha...
> 
> This was originally intended to be a weekly updating fic, and to get it moving a little better I'm gonna go ahead and return to that notion. So look for updates to this little project once weekly, every Wednesday! (And feel free to continue leaving me suggestions for pairings - I love trying my hand at new ships!)
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> \--

“Your tie is crooked.”

It wasn't that it shocked Bertholdt that Reiner noticed. Usually, if anything was even slightly askew, whether it was in his appearance, the way he carried himself -  _ anything _ \- Reiner had something to say about it. As much as he cracked wise about Bertholdt, you'd think he'd been placed on assignment to observe him. For the entirety of their friendship. Always. 

He had plenty of time to do it, too. Seeing Bertholdt without Reiner was like seeing the sky without the sun, the moon without the stars, and as much as people thought of Bertholdt as Reiner’s rock, it was oftentimes the other way around. Reiner was something solid, something constant, something that held Bertholdt together through good times and bad. Reiner was someone who cared about him, regardless.

Someone who wasn't afraid to tell him when he was going to make a fool of himself. 

“Does it look stupid?” Bertholdt wondered aloud, turning on his heel to look for the closest mirror. When he finally caught sight of himself, his tie was indeed tied rather poorly, and he undid it and made a second attempt before Reiner could even catch up to him. “This look any better?”

Reiner shook his head. “Not really, Bert. You gotta get the knot right, or it's gonna hang weird. Trust me, man. My uncle spent like two weeks teaching me how to do mine for shit when I was younger.” He flicked his fingers against the perfectly tied knot of his own tie. Turning around again and seeing his own little failed loop, Bertholdt sighed. 

“I'm just not gonna wear one.” 

Behind him, Reiner scoffed. 

“It's a wedding, and we’re in it, Bert,” he laughed, “The tie ain’t optional.”

“Well what am I supposed to do, then?” Bertholdt snapped. “This thing looks like shit, and I'm gonna look like a moron in all the pictures!” He pulled the tie off again, and tossed it at his reflection in the mirror. “Why’d I agree to do this, anyway?”

“No need to be dramatic, Bert.” Reiner snatched the tie from the spot on the floor where it had landed, and looped it back around Bertholdt’s neck, using to pull him close. “You agreed to do this for the same reason I did; we’re here because Annie is our friend, and she's got so much dirt on us that if we said no, we’d be in deep shit.”

At that, Bertholdt laughed. His brought his hands up to cover Reiner's, leaning forward to let their foreheads touch. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on that soft, fleeting feeling, of the stability that leaning on Reiner - physically and otherwise - always brought him. Distracted, he almost didn't notice the gentle tug of Reiner pulling at his tie again. 

“Come here, let me fix it,” he said simply, and after a moment, he had Bertholdt’s tie on, perfectly straight. “There. Now, let's go stand up and look cute for an hour or two, and then we’ll be free to get smashed and do the chicken dance at the reception.”

“You say that like it was even on my to-do list.” Bertholdt grinned, shaking his head as he followed Reiner down the hall to where the other groomsmen would be waiting. Truth be told, though, if it was in Reiner’s plans for the evening, it would undoubtedly be part of Bertholdt’s, as well. 

Because as much of a mess as Reiner could be on his own - as much of a disaster as either of them could be, separately - there was something so complete, so perfect about the two of them, together. 


End file.
